Captured
by Lapis Love
Summary: If Nick Fury found out exactly how was he was carving his way into the X-Men, well he wouldn't be pleased. But ask Wolverine if he cared? There was more than one way to get information out of a beautiful woman. (Not good at summaries but I think its worth taking a peek at). First posted X-Men story.
1. Prologue

**A/N: This isn't my first X-Men fanfic, but the first one I'm posting. Not exactly sure where I'll be going with this, but with all things associated with the X-Men there's lots of action. This doesn't follow any particular story arc current or otherwise or movie, just something I came up with off the top of my head. Hope you enjoy, and thank you for giving this a chance.**

Disclaimer: These characters are the creative property of Stan Lee and Marvel Comics. No copyright infringement is intended.

As soon as he landed, his metallic, indestructible claws sliced their way back into the sensitive tissue and muscle of his hands. The pain was a brief sting, something he had felt a thousand times over, but it was irritating at best and unnoticeable compared to the churning pain that was taking place in the center of his chest.

An expletive exploded from his bloodied mouth and he groaned. When he opened his eyes, the world swam around him and went out of focus. Shaking his head and ignoring the temptation to lie completely still to catch his breath, James Howlett codename Wolverine rolled to his side, digging his fingers into the muddied earth and lifted himself into a sitting position.

Overhead he heard the earth rumbling sound stream of a jet flying too low to the ground. Great, he thought as he coughed violently into the damp, rank air of Colorado. Just what he needed was the intervention of the ill-informed US Air Force. Where were they fifteen minutes ago when he used his back as a bullet proof vest as he carved his way out the unsanctioned military facility he had been held prisoner as an undercover agent? No fucking where, that's where!

Sounds of combat boots could be heard two hundred clicks away and growing closer. The acrid scent of gunpowder rent the air alerting Wolverine that the guards were closing in on him and he had to move. He grunted against the effort of lifting his heavy body which was in the process of repairing itself. Just as soon as he found his footing, the tink of a hand grenade landed right next to his boot. Cursing again, Wolverine was blown several feet into the air and landed once again on his back, as the sound of the explosion nearly ruptured his eardrums, as dirt and foliage was rained down on him. This time he roared, and when he opened his eyes they were completely blood red.

He was done playing nice…

X-X-X-X-X

This wasn't going to be easy. That's what the Professor had said to his organized team of X-Men some he had practically raised from childhood into the formidable fighters who stood stoic around the holographic imaging table.

Professor Charles Xavier founder, mutant activist, and humanitarian pointed out their intended destination.

The mission was said to be dangerous but doable: the extraction and retrieval of several mutants that were being held in an unauthorized military facility in a town not far from Boulder, Colorado. It was something the X-Men had done several times over, but this mission was different in that the Professor wanted the X-Men to locate and bring back one particular mutant, codename Wolverine.

Storm who was co-leader of the X-Men had drawn a single eyebrow to her hairline as the Professor rattled off some of Wolverine's "credentials". He was rumored to be the most dangerous mutant possibly in the whole world, was ex-military, and an assassin. What he could bring to a school with young impressionable children would remain to be seen, but Storm wasn't sold that he was the right fit for the Institute. An assassin? Really, Charles?

Nevertheless, Storm knew it wasn't her decision or call to make, but what she wanted was information. There had been little in Wolverine's file, which concerned her considerably. What exactly did the Professor need him for? Certainly not to teach art.

Perhaps Charles was bringing him on strictly as an X-Man. They could always use the numbers, but Storm felt they had a pretty solid base. With she and Cyclops acting as its leaders, the rest of the team was consisted of: Kitty Pryde (Shadowcat), Remy LeBeau (Gambit), Dr. Henry "Hank McCoy (Beast), Peter Rasputin (Colossus), Betsy Braddock (Psylocke) and Dr. Jean Grey. There were countless others, but this was Storm's main core she wanted with her on almost every assignment.

They were told the mission could be dangerous, but what they had flown into was a scene from a civil war.

The X-Men were twenty-two minutes into their battle when they found the entrance point of the facility. The facility itself was constructed much like a prison of the early nineteenth century. Very primitive in structure made entirely of lifeless gray concrete, and steel fencing. But it was well guarded by high-tech equipment and weaponry. The building was split into three sections with a suspected underground network that could span the fifty-two acres they were standing on. The central hub of the building is what they would need to breach in order to access the files of the facility and to unlock all cells and exits.

"Jesus!" Cyclops, had muttered as he saw the gapping hole on the south end of the west building. The hole looked as if it were something Colossus would have been responsible for had he not been flying in the jet with him.

Cyclops had landed the plane several miles away from the facility as protocol and the members dispersed into their sub-groups, heading on foot towards the north end of the facility. Everyone was connected via their CommLink and psi-link they shared with Professor Charles Xavier and fellow telepath Dr. Jean Grey.

Storm's job was to lead her team to the upper-levels of the building and release any captured mutant from his or her holding cell, and subdue any insurgents. The X-Men's code was not to kill, but to disarm. That she would do with her gift of controlling the weather and elements.

The plan had been carefully mapped out and reviewed twice, but there was so much chaos happening that the plan had to be recalibrated, and now it was Storm's job alone to do an aerial sweep of the facility and surrounding ground and lead any escaped mutants to the safety of the Blackbird. She was also on the outlook for hostiles.

Soaring through the air was a past-time favorite of hers, but now wasn't the time for her to get caught up in the euphoria of being able to command the winds.

Just a few minutes east of the facility an explosion caught Storm's undivided attention. Pressing the button on her CommLink, she was immediately patched through to Cyclops.

"Yes, Storm?" came the succinct reply.

"There's possible hostile activity happening about three miles due east of my current position. I'm going to get a visual."

"Roger that. Send out a signal for extraction once you've reached the location. Radio communication only. I'll send Colossus as back up," Cyclops said.

"Ten-four," Storm's eyes glossed over to an iridescent white, and using the winds, she sped towards the melee with the force of a bullet shooting out of a gun barrel.

What she saw down below would have made Storm think she had stumbled her way into a video game. There were men, ten armed men all shooting with rapid succession at a moving target that flipped and cursed, and whose body was riddled with bullets. The man should have been dead, bleeding out, but the more the armed men shot, the more infuriated the targeted mutant became.

Wolverine snarled as he thrust his clawed hand into the chest of one of the grunts and sliced the end of the rifle barrel clean off an approaching guard. Twisting to his front, he cracked noses, broke ribs, and made several men impotent with one dirty blow of his adamantium filled fist to their balls.

But still they came. In droves like the wind that had suddenly picked up and brought with it a strong scent reminiscent of the earth after a powerful rainstorm. It was misplaced among the stale air of blood, sweat, musk, that it jarred him for a moment. Wolverine caught a blow to the back of his head from the blunt end of a rifle. It stilled him for a moment but it didn't put him down.

Slowly he turned around and sneered at the guard who had the audacity to take a cheap shot. For every two steps Wolverine took forward, the guard took three backwards. Wolverine smiled evilly at the man, his eyes as dark as oil, and his very soul as black as death.

"C'mere," Wolverine crooned beckoning the guard to draw closer with his blood stained claws.

The guard clearly petrified and out of bullets or an exit strategy, shrieked a bit when his back made contact with a tree.

"Just let me go," the guarded plead. "I-I was just following orders."

Wolverine didn't look sympathetic nor impressed. "Following orders, eh?" he grunted. "Then I guess you won't mind if I give you a new directive." Moving with speed not synonymous with a man his size, Wolverine slammed his fist into the bark just millimeters from the guard's head. "Fuckin' die you piece of shit!" With his other hand still free to do his bidding, Wolverine quickly flicked his claws and took a step back. Within seconds, every single gun holster of the guard's fluttered to the muddy earth.

The guard made the fatal mistake of spitting out a wad of saliva mixed with blood as a last ditch effort to escape into Wolverine's eye.

It was like the earth went completely still as the guard saw his impending death being reflected in Wolverine's steel blue eyes.

Snarling at the man and prepared to finish him, a gust of strong wind nearly toppled Wolverine over. The wind blew faster and harder this time that he couldn't stop his momentum, and was tossed aside like tumbleweed, his eyes facing the sky. There was a figure suspended in the air, eyes blank yet snapping with white-hot energy like lightning, as her hair the color of the clouds themselves lifted and fell beautifully to her shoulders, momentarily blurring her face.

"Halt!" commanded the sultry voice of the being that floated in the air, her black gossamer cape flowing prettily on the winds she seem to control.

Wolverine grunted at the woman and ignored her and quickly got to his feet, cricked his neck, ready to finish what had been brewing for months since his capture. No one, not even a beautiful goddess-like woman was going to stop him from his revenge.

Storm saw from below the man had gotten up to his feet despite the strength and voracity of her winds. He was determined, more determined than she would have given him credit for considering the numerous injuries his body had sustained. She dropped several feet, yet remained out of range of what was left of the platoon of armed guards.

Storm observed for a moment as the man stalked back over to the cowering guard. The mutant jacked the man to his feet, his silver claws glinting in the late afternoon sun. Startled that he would commit murder in front of a witness, and remembering her oath not to take or allow anyone to take a human life, Storm summoned a bolt of lighting to strike near the mutant to decommission his assault.

"I said stop!" she yelled.

The man boldly ignored her and plunged his claws deep into the belly of the soldier who fell limp in the mutant's arms.

Wolverine grabbed the soldier roughly by the hair, looked deep into his dead, lifeless eyes, and ruthlessly snapped his neck.

More guards were coming and he had to get moving, but the woman who stabbed the ground and almost took him out with her little lightning bolt landed directly in front of him, eyes still glowing accompanied with a disapproving frown.

"You did not have to kill him!" she reprimanded as her hair whipped around her face.

_Oh boy, _Wolverine gulped. She was a looker that was more than plainly obvious. With skin the color of cocoa beans, almond shaped eyes framed by impossibly long and thick black lashes, sinfully plump lips the color reminding Wolverine of the inside of a grapefruit, high cheekbones, aquiline nose with perfectly shaped nostrils, and a mane of pure white hair, he felt his tongue go momentarily dry.

Quickly he checked out the rest of her body. _Gotdamn, _she had breasts that were perfectly shaped spheres, a small waist that flared out into wide hips giving the woman the appearance of an hourglass with mile-long legs.

Wolverine took in a shuddering breath and unintentionally drew in the woman's natural fragrance into his lungs. Sandalwood, earth, air, sunshine, and rain. Her scent was all-consuming and enough to turn him stupid, but he didn't know her, didn't know why she was here, stopping him from finishing the rest of his mission. She might have been dressed like she was on her way to a costume party, but it didn't conceal what she was: a liability.

He shoved her aside.

Feeling rage on a level she had never felt before, Storm was prepared to clock him in the back of his wildly tamed head, but the sound of trucks barreling towards their current position stopped her.

Wolverine rolled his eyes and cursed as he was prepared to push the woman away so she wouldn't be splattered against the windshield of the incoming trucks. He turned to face her, still a little taken aback by her standing in the middle of a field surrounded by mutilated bodies looking out of place. But her stunning beauty wasn't the full reason why Wolverine was caught short. The woman was standing perfectly still, immobile, waiting.

Two Hummers broke through the tree line, men standing on top with machine guns ready to start blasting.

"Lady move!" Wolverine shouted and was prepared to lunge at her, but the woman held out her hand as if to stop the trucks with either her mind or with superhuman strength, which Wolverine had no clue. At the moment he didn't care. He could survive being used as a pin cushion, but he doubted she could.

Storm held out her hand like an imperial monarch. Her eyes turned into an even brighter shade of white. The air pressure dropped, fat clouds swelled and converged giving birth to frosty winds and golf ball sized hail. Logan remained stiff at her side, feeling the chill of the wind against his skin. The temperature had dropped to nearly blizzard conditions causing his teeth to chatter violently on top of one another. He stared at his hands, amazed they were nearly blue in color.

The trucks soon slowed and then came to a stop. The guards who were standing atop the vehicles dropped, unconscious, having succumbed to the extreme change in temperature.

"I suggest you step out of your vehicles or face the consequences," her voice low and filled with an unfilled promise of pain if they didn't heed her advice.

Wolverine swiveled his head to stare at the woman thinking what meds she was on. There was no way those loons would obey the command of a weather-wielding witch, nor stand down and let their greatest prize—him—escape with his life. They were mercilessly trained assholes following the direction of their bigoted leader General Wraith.

There was no movement from any of the two vehicles that were before them. Storm sighed.

"All right, then. It was your call," she warned as thunder boomed overhead and lightning quickly stabbed both trucks like a period at the end of a sentence.

"I-I-I thought y-you d-didn't k-kill?" Wolverine asked between his chattering teeth.

Storm said nothing, but her smirk said it all.

Several tense seconds passed, and then the men suddenly broke free of the vehicles and held their hands up in surrender despite the fact their bodies constantly stung and convulsed as a result of being electrocuted.

Storm dropped her hand, her eyes faded from all white to sapphire blue. She snatched a look at Wolverine before proceeding to move toward the guards.

Once more, Wolverine felt like he had been clobbered upside the head. Blue eyes, well damn, he thought, and felt some weird pulling of the muscles in his face. Was he grinning? Wolverine rolled his eyes. Now wasn't the time to start thinking with his dick, but his head.

"I could use a hand," she spoke to kill the silence between them.

Coming out of his stupor, Wolverine reluctantly trailed behind the statuesque woman, his eyes momentarily dropping to the seductive yet proud cadence of her walk. His bushy eyebrow quirked but then he mentally reprimanded himself that he needed to stay clear-headed.

"Listen, lady," he began.

"The name's Storm," she interrupted. "My mentor would like to extend sanctuary to any mutant who was captured here. Are you interested?"

Wolverine grunted. "If I accept will I be forced to wear blue and yellow spandex?"

Storm's lips twitched but she managed to keep her no-nonsense expression on her face.

Wolverine almost cracked a smile, too, but he needed to hustle. Not get his flirt on. He cleared his throat, getting himself back on track. "I can help you tie up these guards, but I gotta get moving."

"I'm taking it you're the one who caused all of this?" she said indicating the area around them.

Wolverine admitted nothing.

"How far do you think you can get on foot before their reinforcements find you? Plus you're injured. You need medical attention," Storm persisted.

"I'm fine!" the feral mutant snapped, not used to someone showing concern whether it be genuine or feigned. "I heal fast," he amended.

"I would ask that you rethink the offer. Do you have a home to return to?"

By the sour look on his face, it wasn't difficult to see she had a hit a soft spot with the mutant.

"I don't mean to pry," Storm tried softly.

Her concern was irritating the shit out of him. "Then don't!" Wolverine stomped over to one of the guards who was trying to discreetly crawl away. He kicked the man clean across the face.

Storm flinched a bit but moved into action before the other guards tried to change the tide and take them down.

Working out that small burst of aggression, Wolverine retraced his steps back to the Hummer, tore the door open, rummaged around until he located what he had been searching for: plastic handcuffs. He went to work.

Storm's CommLink buzzed against her shoulder, and she pressed the button.

"Storm," she answered.

"We're coming towards you. We have thirteen mutants in our custody. The commanders have abandoned ship."

Not surprising, Storm thought. Well they had the guards to question so that would have to do.

"Did you encounter any hostile activity?" Cyclops questioned.

Storm stared at the stocky man who had muscles on top of muscles with a surly and bitter attitude. The mutant wasn't conventionally handsome like Remy, but he had rugged good looks underneath the dried blood that was caked into the creases in his skin. In the short time she had been in his company, Storm noticed that his azure eyes shifted color based on his mood.

Wolverine had just scored a packet of cigars on one of the guards and wasted no time lighting one up. He needed the nicotine to dull his senses because right now they were too acutely aware of the woman and her silky voice.

"Yes, like you wouldn't believe," Storm retorted dryly.

Cyclops' voice was grim. "You wouldn't believe the slaughter we found on the inside. Were you able to locate Wolverine?"

Again, Storm brought her attention to the man who seemed to be muttering incoherently to himself. He was Wolverine which explained a lot but still put her ill at ease. Why would the Professor want to recruit a man who clearly had no trouble in killing people? And from the way he fought, he was expertly trained in many ways to cut a man down both literally and figuratively speaking.

"Yes," she responded.

"We've been told by several of the captured mutants that he is extremely lethal, and volatile. Be cautious of him. We see your twenty and we're coming up behind you."

"Ten-four."

Wolverine heard approaching footsteps and wondered briefly what was coming next. His instinct to keep moving reared its ugly head, but as he stared at the woman there was something about her that made him adjust and rethink. If he could go to a place where the women were knock-outs like her, it might not be such a bad thing. His operative could survive without him for a few months…or years. But he wasn't one for domesticity, and plus he wasn't being paid to be anyone's invited guest. There was work to be done and a mission to complete.

As soon as she was distracted, he'd be as good as gone.

A few moments later Storm's team emerged through the trees. She let out the breath she had been holding, and cast a look to her right where Wolverine had been standing. Surprised that he had disappeared without making the slightest noise, Storm was conflicted: go after him or let him be?

Cyclops approached. "I thought you said you had Wolverine?"

"He was standing right here, but I guess when he saw the team, he figured I was fine and took off on foot. He couldn't have gotten far. We should be able to track him."

Cyclops nodded his head and tried not to let his eyes linger on any of the body parts and dead bodies that littered the ground—distract him. Perhaps it was best for everyone if they just left Wolverine the Hun to the woods.

TBC.

**A/N: Thank you for reading and leaving me your thoughts. Reviews are love or so I've been told. **


	2. Contact

**A/N: Thank you all for reading, leaving me a review, or adding to your lists of alerts or faves! Much appreciated! Here is the latest installment.**

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Stan Lee and Marvel Comics. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Hellicarrier/Adriatic Sea/2:15pm**

"It was a botched assignment, Fury and a waste of my fuckin' time," Logan grumbled as he stuffed a stogie in his mouth and patted his pockets trying to locate his lighter.

"Sorry you feel that way, Wolverine," Nick Fury, director of S.H.I.E.L.D replied insincerely. "We got good intel, and the mutants that had been captured well you can rest easy because now they're under the protection of the X-Men stuffed and fed and being read bedtime stories as we speak."

Cricking his neck, and rotating his shoulders, Logan glared at Nick who stared back at him nonplussed. Annoyingly, Logan had to give the man credit. Nick was as tough as brass balls, could look any adversary in the eye and not flinch. The man's secrets had secrets, and one of his many enemies could apply as much pressure as they liked, but there was no way they could get him to sing like a canary. They didn't make men like Nick Fury anymore, Logan thought gruffly.

"You got me here on this flying bird. What do you want?"

Shuffling a few papers around, Nick Fury remained standing behind the head chair at the long polished table.

"What I want is information and as much as I can get. Are you ready for your next assignment, or would you like some down time?"

Logan pulled a face. "I actually get a choice? Not a dart in my ass, kidnapped, and awakened with three bullets to my stomach while you dangle scraps of my past in front of me if I promise to be a good dog and take a shit outside instead of on your new carpet?"

Nick's rumbling laughter filled the meeting room. "Something like that, but not nearly as creative." Taking a photo out of the file in his hand, Nick sailed it across the table to Logan who merely looked down at it. "What you're looking at is the X-Men's base of operation in Westchester, New York. We've been monitoring them for a few months now, and they are…a peculiar people," Nick with his hands behind his back began to pace around the table. "For all intents and purposes it's a school, but you and I know better than that."

Eyebrow raised in the air, hazel eyes tracked Nick's movements. "Do we now?" Logan questioned.

"You were engaged with them or one in particular," a corner of Nick's usually pursed lips lifted in a smirk.

Logan shifted in his seat as a vision of ebony skin, sky-blue eyes, and snow white hair overtook his memory. "What do you want with the X-Men? Don't they usually deal with mutant liberation and that kind of shit?"

"Yes that kind of shit," Fury retorted mockingly. "All I need you to do is to make contact with them again. Once you've infiltrated the X-Men I'll tell you the rest."

Leaning back in the chair, Logan propped his dirty boots up on the table. Fury merely glowered at his lack of couth and manners.

"Looking to add to your action figure collection, Nick?"

The sleeves of Fury's black leather duster crinkled as the director gripped the back of a swiveling chair. In his long military career he was a solider before he became a commander of his own platoon, to now being the head operative of _the _highest defensive task force, but he could honestly say he's never come across someone like Logan better known as Wolverine. Fury knew all about the experiments Logan had undergone in his long life and that part of him that still gave a damn about humanity felt for the guy, he honestly did. However, that sympathy usually went out the door as soon as Logan opened up his surly mouth. Nevertheless, Fury acknowledged a long time ago that it was better to have Wolverine on his side than fighting against him.

"Look, Wolverine," Nick's said impatiently, "all I need you to do is make as much noise as possible to get the X-Men's attention. Once you're in, I'll tell you what your next move is. The place is crawling with telepaths, and you're a hard nut to crack if you get my meaning."

"So I guess you're not looking for me to knock on the front door and say 'hi'."

"You can if you want to. But when have you ever done anything the easy way?"

Logan shrugged. Nothing about his life had ever been easy. "Don't dick me around, Nick. You and I got history. What do you _really _want with the X-Men?"

Nick Fury sighed. "They have technology that's not supposed to exist. At least that's the rumor. We just merely want to know what it is, if it is in fact real."

"Want to compare toys, I see. Why not get pretty boy Stark on this? He's the egghead."

"Yeah, but Stark isn't a mutant. You are. The X-Men will be more inclined to trust you than him."

Made sense Logan rationalized. "When do I move out?"

"0800 tomorrow. You have forty-eight hours to make contact with the X-Men."

"How long am I being commissioned out for, Nick?"

"You know my policy: take your time but hurry up. Three weeks is the maximum, but if needed we can allot you more. Here's your homework," Fury dropped a file in front of Logan and then left the room.

Logan picked up the dossier containing the names of the known X-Men and a little history about the school. As he flipped through the pages he came across Storm's info. There wasn't much written down about her other than the fact she was found on the streets in Cairo, pick pocketing when she was no more than ten maybe twelve years old, and officially joined the X-Men at the tender age of eighteen. A beautiful woman like that living as a street urchin, Logan was having a difficult time picturing that.

As he continued to leaf through the information, he whistled when his eyes landed on a beautiful redhead.

"Dr. Jean Grey," Logan said aloud. There was something about her that reminded him of someone from his past, but naturally he couldn't remember who. He spotted a few more lookers, but inevitably his attention returned to the white-haired witch. There was just something about her that could make a man like him pant and stand up on his hind legs if he weren't careful.

Logan glared down at his lap telling his dick not to even think about it. His job was to get information, not get laid, but hey if it happened he certainly wouldn't put up a fight. What he thought might be another waste of his time, might actually be the assignment of a lifetime.

**Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters/****Danger Room/****Westchester, NY-****8:25 a.m.**

"Break! We have two overhead. Three hidden. And five on the run. Maintain your flanks and stay alert. Better yet…just stay alive. If it gets messy…fine then."

"Not worried about the destruction of city property, Cyclops?" Storm asked with her back pressed against a brick wall, her leather uniform sticking to her in uncomfortable places. She ignored the persistent ache in her back and legs, the stinging in her eyes thanks in part to a hail of debris that she flew through to avoid being trapped under rubble again.

"Tell the government officials we're trying to protect to put it on our tab," Cyclops retorted dryly.

"What is it up to now? Forty-seven billion?"

An infinitesimal smile creased Cyclops' dry lips before it deadpanned into a hard line. Looking around the brick wall to get a location on the other members of their team, he felt grim. Shadowcat was assisting Colossus with bringing down the Blob. Iceman was keeping a few unidentified mutants entertained with making ice sculptures to divert them from reaching the Baxter Building where military officials had congregated in support of a new defense weapon created by the brilliant mind of Reed Richards.

"Where the hell is Gambit?" Cyclops growled when he noted that one of his key team members had gone AWOL.

Storm stared at her co-captain, a divot piercing between her eyes prior to them rolling in exasperation. Storm summoned a thick fog to conceal the area hoping to stop the fireworks from spreading from the mile long strip of space they had been trained to keep all incidents confined to.

A grinding noise abruptly caught her attention, and being equipped to see through her own foggy creation, Storm's adrenaline kicked in as she grabbed Cyclops by the shoulder and spun them out of the way of a careening car.

The wall exploded in large and small chunks of red brick which landed unceremoniously on abandoned cars and trucks left on the stretch of road.

"Thanks," was whooshed out of Cyclops when his leather clad back hit the pavement and he instinctively covered his red quartz visor with his forearm to prevent it from being shattered.

Rolling to her side to sit up, Storm coughed out a stream of dust. "No…problem."

"We need to contain this as best as possible. Get Gambit on the line and find out his twenty. Then we need to recon with Shadowcat, Colossus, and Iceman."

"Gambit at your service, sir," came the smooth, yet playfully seductive voice of Remy LeBeau.

Annoyed by Gambit's flare for the dramatic, Cyclops woodenly got his feet and pressed his fingers against his right ear to quell some of the static feedback he was receiving in his CommLink.

"What's your position, Gambit?"

"Up in de sky…it's a bird, it's a plane, it's dat handsome critter from de bayou ya'll."

Sensing where her friend might be, Gambit liked to get the high ground whenever they were in battle. Storm spotted him atop an old manufacturing plant some fifteen hundred yards away, his brown leather duster flapping in the wind as well as his auburn hair. Tapping Cyclops on the shoulder she pointed out Gambit's location.

Cyclops scowled.

"What are you doing? Posing for pictures? Make yourself useful, Gambit and get down here. We need to get those people out of the building before Magneto shows up," Storm ordered.

"Oui, mademoiselle. But Gambit have a question, non. Why we always fi'ting Magneto and 'is goons?"

"You need a challenge, Gambit?" Storm asked. "Then pretend he's holding Giselle Bundchen hostage."

Gambit laughed but then groaned in the next second because the building he was standing on was presently crumbling under his feet. A missile had been fired.

"GAMBIT!" Storm railed into the air and generated a small hurricane gale wind to carry her to the building. She could faintly hear Cyclops calling her name, demanding she get back into position, a command she willfully ignored as she did an aerial search for her long time friend.

Up in the control turret, Emma Frost smiled. Gambit wanted something difficult, well he just got it.

"Gambit! Gambit!" Storm yelled hoping he'd show his so-called handsome mug and calm the racing of her heart _before _she tore the place apart. "Gambit! Answer me damnit!"

"Storm watch out!" the warning sounded just seconds prior to a third missile locking on to her coordinates and giving chase. Storm violently cursed as she immediately released her hold on her winds and used them to divert the missile off course. At the last second it changed trajectory and slammed into a condo complex decimating it within minutes. Lowering herself to the ground, Storm approached the demolished building. She was soon joined by Colossus.

They stared at the pile of bricks and mortar seemingly waiting for something to happen.

"I will look for Gambit. You go and assist Cyclops. He's fighting a group of trained ninjas."

"Ninjas?" Storm asked incredulously. Just who in the hell was running this session because this wasn't the program she and Cyclops had agreed on before they began this Danger Room exercise.

_Emma, _Storm thought with a curl of her lip. That bitch was, no _had _gotten on her last nerve. This wasn't the first time Emma tweaked the controls and changed things up while a session was in progress. Sure it might have kept the X-Men on their toes, but it also undermined the lesson Storm and Cyclops were trying to teach other members of their team as well as potential X-Men. It went without saying that not every situation would be controlled and one always had to be on the lookout for hidden dangers, but that wasn't the point. Emma Frost had poked her nose where it didn't belong, and was trying to throw what little authority she had—around.

And Storm for one was tired of it. She knew Emma had been nothing but sour grapes since Professor Xavier made his decision on who would run the school and the team during his upcoming absence. He was scheduled to leave for Muir Island in the next month. Emma figured since she was a telepath like Charles, he'd pick her to carry out his affairs in his place. However, that wasn't the case. Emma was fairly new, only having been at the Institute for less than six months. The students were weary of her, as well as some of the seasoned members of the X-Men. So naturally, Charles picked the one person he knew everyone trusted, but above all that—liked.

"If you find nothing in two minutes, we'll need you as back-up. We'll try to create a diversion so that you, Shadowcat, and Iceman can get into the building and free the hostages."

"Aye, Captain."

Taking flight again, Storm dropped into the middle of the fray where a battered and bruised Cyclops tried to hold his own against five ninjas who never stayed still long enough for him to deliver either a hand-to-hand blow or an optic blast.

In true Storm fashion, with her hands raised above her head, the air rumbled with the sound of her thunder as lightning created the only illumination through the thick, black clouds. Landing next to Cyclops, they wordlessly pressed their backs together and with syncopated precision led the offensive attack on the group of ninjas.

In the distance, Storm spotted a newly excavated Gambit leading the way towards the building, executing somersaults and other acrobatic moves as he led Iceman, Shadowcat, and Colossus across the war zone.

Using the palm of her hand in an upward thrust motion, Storm broke the nose of one ninja. Once he was down, using the heel of her boot, she snapped the blade of his sword from the handle and kicked it away.

"The others are inside," Storm announced.

"Good," Cyclops said before flipping one ninja over his back and drove his knee into the center of the ninja's chest breaking a few ribs in the process.

"Aieeeeee!" the wind-rider yelled as she wrenched her arms free of a ninja and propelled herself into a standing back tuck, thrusting out a leg, and striking her opponent under the chin, flipping him backwards. Another ninja landed behind her, but Storm spun around, her palm made contact with his chest and using a low charge volt of electricity she stunned him until he dropped.

"We freed the hostages, Storm," Shadowcat's voice sounded through the CommLink. "And we're at the rendezvous point."

"Mission complete," Cyclops said. "End program."

The debris and collateral damage that littered the streets vanished until all participants were standing on the cerulean metal plates of the sphere shaped room.

"How did we do?" Kitty asked as she pushed an unruly strand of chocolate hair behind her ear.

"You fought well and worked as a team," Storm complimented. "But I think Gambit has a point. We've been training nonstop to battle Magneto and the Brotherhood, but he's not the only threat out there. I think its time to expand." In an aside to Cyclops she said, "Tell that bitch Frost to stop interfering with our sessions," Storm stepped away and placed a smile on her face.

Cyclops' cheeks reddened but otherwise he kept mum. For now.

"Our other enemies have been quiet for a while though," Bobby Drake pointed out.

"Doesn't mean they aren't planning something," Cyclops interjected. "I'll try to think of something a lot more challenging for our next session. But the thing to remember is not to go off on your own," he directed a glare at Gambit. "If you get in trouble that's going to cost us precious time to come and rescue your ass while leaving our enemies ample opportunity to get the upper hand. Lives could be lost and that goes against our code due to someone wanting to 'play' hero instead of being one."

The group standing in front of Cyclops shifted. Even Gambit looked contrite which was so unlike him.

Feeling as if he made his point, Cyclops cocked his head in the direction of the door. "Hit the showers, people."

The teenagers didn't need to be told twice as they headed for the exit. Storm, Gambit, and Cyclops filed out of the room at a much slower pace.

Slinging an arm over's Storm's shoulders, Gambit stared down at his best friend taking note of the dirt that marred her face. "You and me at Harry's tonight, padnat?"

"As appealing as that sounds, Remy, I'm going to have to pass. I'm really not in the mood to play your jealous wife to keep your harem at bay."

Gambit laughed and kissed her cheek. "You know I'd give 'em all up to spend an eternity wit you, chere."

"You say that to every woman with a decent rack and long legs," Storm pushed him away with her hip. "Besides you're too much of a brother to me for me to take you seriously."

Grabbing his heart, Remy stumbled away from Storm. "You wound me, Stormy."

The woman in question pursed her lips. "How many times do I have to tell you not to call me by that ridiculous name?"

A wicked gleam came into Remy's red-on-black eyes, "As many times before I git it right. I should be punished for mah insubordination."

"Insubordination? That's a big word, even for you, Gambit," Scott teased.

"And I know a four-letta word that fits your description perfectly, hommes."

"Boys," Storm said. "Am I going to have to separate you two?"

Both Scott and Remy pointed accusatory fingers at one another and spoke in unison. "He started it."

Storm could do nothing but shake her head as she reached the showers.

* * *

**Two days later…**

"It's been too long since my last good shag," Betsy Braddock lamented as she leaned her head back and stretched her arms along the edge of the hot tub.

Ororo shook her head as she gazed at her violet-haired friend. Leave it to Betsy to start talking about sex her second favorite topic next to the most effective way to render a person unconscious. Yet it was quiet moments like this that Storm relished because they were such rare occurrences. Living the life of an X-Man meant living on the ready, always being prepared to put on her uniform and protect humanity. It was a thankless job where she and others like her were persecuted rather than praised for saving earth from itself.

"Here we go again," Jean mumbled under her breath but still said it loud enough to be heard.

Betsy made an impatient noise in the back of her throat. "Don't judge, Jean just because you get it on a regular. Living here, a bird like me doesn't have many options. When is Charles going to start recruiting actual _men _to be apart of the X-Men?"

"What are you talking about?" Jean asked. "There are plenty of guys who roam the halls here."

Betsy scoffed. "They're all jailbait. Wait. How old is Peter again?"

"Old enough to know better," Ororo said.

"Other than Remy who flirts with anything that breathes and Scott who pretty much has a ball and chain around his c…" Betsy censored herself after receiving a death glare from Jean, "pickings are slim. Where the hell is Angel and Warpath?"

"In Japan last I checked," Ororo supplied the answer. "And Angel is spoken for…kind of. He's been seeing Alison off and on. Joseph, I believe is well on his way to being engaged."

Betsy pouted. "So with those two out of the running that just leaves the Professor, which no offense but eww he's too much of a father figure to ever fantasize about seeing naked. Kurt—too devout so that leaves Henry but he's a no go."

"Why?" Jean took a sip of her chardonnay.

"Because he still fancies that one," Betsy pointed at Ororo.

Feeling put on the spot, Ororo shifted a little on the padded seat she was perched on. She and Henry had been an item it seemed ages ago. They were still friends but the thrill was certainly gone, at least for her.

"Henry and I were together a long time ago. I've moved on and so has he," Ororo tried to debunk Betsy's theory.

"You might be a tad oblivious to the obvious, my love, but Henry is far from being over you. It would be cute and endearing if it weren't a touch pathetic."

Incensed, Ororo was fully prepared to come to Henry's defense, but Betsy beat her to the punch by holding up a hand.

"I already know what you're about to say. He's a good man, you're better off as friends…"

"Why did you two split again?" Jean interrupted Betsy's spiel knowing she was about to get offensive in three seconds.

Ororo stretched her arms over her head which lifted her heavy breasts out of the water. "Henry and I wanted separate things. Besides I don't think he was ever comfortable…in his own skin. We got together at the time his second mutation kicked in. He was blue and furry and didn't think I'd still be attracted to him. I was, but…he didn't or couldn't believe me. And we _are_ better off as friends," Ororo tossed a superior look at Betsy. "He's a passionate man, but our passions never really fell into alignment."

"He's a brain," Betsy criticized. "Not that I think anything is wrong with that. But let us be honest with one another. Unless you had a science lab strapped to your chest you could forget about him trying to put something in your Petri dish."

Jean laughed but cut it off abruptly and placed a comforting hand on Ororo's shoulder who was tempted to shrug it off. Everyone knew she was a deeply private person but she was with her two best friends. They didn't know everything about her, but they knew enough.

"So in conclusion," Betsy said, "I'm joining The Avengers effective immediately. I find it grossly unfair that the Black Widow can be surrounded by all those men," and she proceeded to count them off with her fingers, "Captain America, Iron Man, Hawkeye, The Hulk—although with that one is sketchy at best, and Thor…when he's in this galaxy that is. Did I fail to mention Captain America!"

The three women came down with a bout of the giggles.

"I'm sure they'd love to have you, Betsy," Ororo snorted before taking a sip of her wine.

"That sounded like a backhanded compliment, Munroe."

"No, it wasn't. Scouts honor."

*_X-Men please assemble in the War Room*_

All three women stiffened as they listened to the commanding voice in their heads. Betsy groaned and pulled herself from the luxurious pulse of the jets in the hot tub. Jean and Ororo followed suit and quickly dried themselves off and tossed on their robes over their revealing swim wear.

Once they reached the sub-level basement of the Institute, Ororo shrugged her identity as a twentysomething woman and became Storm, a fearless leader handpicked by the formidable man sitting regally in his hydraulic wheelchair. Storm fixed her eyes on Charles and waited for him to begin the briefing.

"We have a situation in Canada. The mutant known as Wolverine is an extremely difficult one to track using Cerebro, but I finally secured a hit today. Unfortunately it would appear the hit has come too late. Emma?"

Emma who stood behind a podium brought up satellite images of what appeared to be a log cabin located in a remote area.

"Approximately ten hours ago Wolverine began slicing and dicing his way through a small town in Alberta, Canada. He has a history of extremely violent behavior, and once he gets started its almost impossible to get him to stop," Emma's ice cold blue eyes flashed for a moment.

Storm didn't like that look, but said nothing. Since her run-in with the feral mutant, Storm wholeheartedly believed she wouldn't be hearing his name or seeing his face anytime soon, but that didn't seem to be the case. As gruesome and ruthless she knew Wolverine could be that didn't stop her from thinking about him from time to time, mostly when she was doing some mundane activity like grading papers or carrying out miscellaneous chores around the estate.

But if this man liked to kill just for the sake of killing, Storm still didn't see why he was important to Charles. The X-Men didn't necessarily harm their own kind, but in extreme cases like this, it would appear they were about to be inaugurated in something there could be no coming back from.

"We allowed him to escape once, but we cannot make that same mistake again," Charles picked up. "Lives are at risk."

"With all due respect, Professor, what are you expecting the X-Men to do?" Cyclops questioned.

"Bring him in. Under the right leadership I believe Wolverine can be a wonderful asset to our fold."

There were grumbles all around that spoke of the contrary. Charles diplomatically ignored them.

"I've just patched his current coordinates into the Blackbird's navigational system," said Emma.

"For this mission I only want Cyclops, Storm, Gambit, Psylocke, and Beast to engage."

Bobby and several others began to protest. It didn't escape the younger generation of X-Men that only senior members had been picked to go.

"This is not up for debate," Charles quieted the outraged murmurs. "I will not lie to you. Wolverine is dangerous and the rest of you simply don't have the adequate training to deal with a mutant of his caliber. Be _extremely _careful, my X-Men," Charles said to the soon-to-be departing members. "But if the situation looks too hostile…abort."

"Lets move," Cyclops sprung into action, but paused long enough to kiss Jean on the lips before heading off to the hanger.

Psylocke bumped shoulders with Storm. "Looks like positive thinking works after all."

Storm wanted to advise Psylocke not to start planning hers and Wolverine's wedding just yet. They could all be flying right to their deaths and there was nothing exciting about it, although deep down Storm's pulse began to beat just a tad bit faster at the prospect of seeing Wolverine again.

* * *

**Alberta, Canada**

However, that rush of anticipatory expectation that flushed Storm's system turned into dread as she walked down the ramp of the Blackbird and was greeted by a scene that transported her back to Colorado.

Everywhere her eyes landed, they landed on a mutilated and dismembered body part. Pools of blood turned the white snow pink. Her horror was cut off once the bone-rattling growl of a man barely hinged sliced through the air.

Storm's jaw dropped as she came face-to-face with Wolverine only this time he was completely naked, and completely covered in blood.

_Oh, boy, _she thought as Wolverine smiled wickedly at her specifically before lifting up one of his clawed hands and giving the long blade a lick.

This was going to be interesting.

To be continued…

**A/N: I know there wasn't much RoLo interaction this chapter, but you can bet your bottom dollar that there will be more from here on out. Just consider this chapter a continuation of the prologue. But thank you so much for reading, and please let me know what you think about this. Oh, and before I go, because there are so many X-Men so you'll see some more than others, while some may only make a brief appearance in this. I will be interchanging the teams as their missions call for it, but just know that RoLo is the main pairing for this story. Thanks again!**


	3. May I Have This Dance

**A/N: I know, six months later and here I am finally with an update. You may have to go back and read the previous chapter to get the gist on what's happening in this one. I apologize its taken so long for me to update. Hopefully I can update this much more frequently than before. Here is the latest. Enjoy! Oh and special note, since this isn't following the plot of any of the movies or comics, I may make references to things that happened in each verse. But I am channeling Hugh Jackman for Wolverine, but I'm NOT channeling Halle Berry for Storm (just for your reference). Again, enjoy and thank you so much for the reviews for the first two chapters!**

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Stan Lee and Marvel Comics/Studios. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Alberta, Canada/5:26 p.m.**

**15 Minutes earlier…**

Slender fingers were pressed to her temples. She really had no idea if this actually worked to help expand her powers or not, but Psylocke had seen the Professor and Jean do this and figured why not. She was reaching. Searching. Canvassing the area trying to get a lock on Wolverine and she was coming up empty. Every time she thought she caught a flicker of something, some thought or disjointed image she would slam up against a wall. And the recoil from it felt as real as if someone had physically thrown her into an immobile object.

"Bullocks, I can't get a lock on him. The Professor was right. This man is near to impossible to track which means he's impervious to mind-reading. Either he's got some top-of-the-line hardwire in his brain, or he's just that _shielded_. We're going into this blind I'm afraid."

That wasn't exactly news anyone wanted to hear, but the X-Men had faced harder battles than this.

Storm thought. "If we can't bring him down through telepathy then we'll need to use muscle. Gambit, Beast you are our most agile fighters I'll need you to get as close to Wolverine as possible in order to cuff him."

"We do have the tranquilizer," Beast threw out as a suggestion.

"Last ditch effort," Storm ruled. "Cyclops and I will try to keep him entertained while the rest of you try to subdue him. He has claws and he's very adept at using them," Storm reminded her team grimly as she and Cyclops landed the Blackbird.

::

This was all staged. A bloody, gruesome stage, but a stage nonetheless. Seeing the vapor emit from his bloodstained lips in front of his eyes, Wolverine snarled but it wasn't due out of a berserker rage, but from the horrid taste of the cornstarch and food coloring mix masquerading as blood he just licked from his retractable claws. That might have been a bit overkill, but he needed to sell this. Needed the five leather-clad people standing in front of him to think he was dangerous and unhinged. Sure, he was dangerous even while sleeping, but unlike those times in the past, Wolverine was fully aware of his actions at present.

His nose twitched out of instinct. The Nerd Rescue Squad probably wasn't aware of this but each of them gave off their own odor. The females didn't smell so bad. The violet-haired minx reminded Wolverine of Japanese blossoms in addition to something sweet but nameless like a really good poison that could kill you before you felt the first tingling of pain. He had to work overtime not to let his man-whore out and wink in her direction because she was in heat which made his mouth salivate.

Infinitesimally his hazel eyes shifted to the white-haired witch. Wolverine could never forget her scent: earth, sunshine, and sandalwood which became even more potent as she stood out here in the elements nearly blending in. If he didn't have his eyes locked on her, Wolverine would think she had disappeared. Her scent was pure like the snow that was numbing his feet.

Reluctantly he turned his attention to the males who stood rigid and waiting for him to make the first move—obviously. The blue fur-ball reeked of animal musk, unsurprisingly, but also English leather bound books. Wolverine took another cursory sniff. The man beast was a fan of finely aged Scotch. If he didn't love beer so much Wolverine might be a fan of scotch.

The idiot standing to the fur-ball's right with the red visor covering his eyes reminded Wolverine of something cold and sterile like the inside of a hospital. An unintentional growl escaped from Wolverine's grimacing mouth. Briefly he had been transferred back to the underground laboratory where he had been tortured and put through the nine circles of hell. This might have been unfair, not like he gave that much of a shit, but he immediately didn't like that bozo.

The man next to him stunk of nicotine, sulfur, and something spicy that irritated the shit out of his nose. Wolverine was curious why he was wearing a long brown leather duster over his uniform. Maybe it was his way of standing out from the crowd because from what Wolverine was seeing the man didn't look very tough. He might have a creepy pair of red on black eyes, but other than that, the guy was too handsome to be able to throw down like a street thug. Besides he probably wouldn't want to break a nail.

Cricking his neck, Wolverine decided to start the dance off first. He began to advance on his prey ignoring the sting of the cold air against his heated, naked flesh.

The X-Men adjusted their position and wordlessly communicated with eye signals and head nods. They didn't know who Wolverine would launch himself after first. Psylocke had been working tirelessly to get inside the mutant's head with no success. This bloke had the armored car of brains or something, she lamented. No matter the angle Psylocke tried to find a weakness she was met with a concrete wall that packed its own punch. If she didn't give this a rest she ran the risk of knocking herself unconsciousness.

_I can't shut him down, ladies and gents. Looks like we're to do this the hard way. _Psylocke relayed that information to her teammates via their established psychic link.

"Wolverine," Cyclops stepped forward, breaking the phalanx line. "We're not here to hurt you. We're just here to…talk."

Well talking was the last thing on Wolverine's mind. He scowled at One-Eye, kind of a catchy nickname the trained assassin thought distractedly as he continued to crush the snow beneath his feet drawing closer, herding them without them being aware they were being herded. A good predator always led its prey to the slaughter without it being fully aware of its own impending doom. But since this wasn't a real fight, Wolverine would have to, in a sense, go easy on them. The goal was to "get caught" not to beat the pants off of the X-Men. Part of him wanted to pout about that.

Seeing that Cyclops' greeting had no bearing on Wolverine, Beast figured he'd give it a shot since he himself was part animal and postulated it would give him some common ground with the feral mutant.

"Friend," Beast said amiably, "we mean you no harm though it seems you've done a great deal here," the blue mutant looked around at the dismembered body parts. Henry's medical background was itching for him to take a closer look at the bodies, but he pushed that urge to the back burner. "Our benefactor Charles Xavier would like to extend you sanctuary and help. We ask that you stand down and let us help you."

In response to Beast's knightly appeal, Wolverine growled.

"This isn't going so well," Storm mumbled under her breath.

Wolverine heard her and snapped his head in her direction. That certainly hadn't gone unnoticed by anyone. Shifting course Wolverine who had been stalking towards Cyclops began to head towards Storm.

Straightening her spine, Storm stared at Wolverine impassively. If he meant to be intimidating it would take more than his naked and bloodied form with those soulless hazel eyes and perpetual snarl on his face to scare her. Oh, she wouldn't lie and say she wasn't a _little _worried about being sliced and diced like ham. Storm had a firsthand witness account of what Wolverine could do to the human body, and she for one was in no rush to die.

Not today and tomorrow wasn't looking good either.

_Storm? _Psylocke reached out to her.

_I'll be fine. Remember your training._

Psylocke sighed heavily. Leave it to Ororo the Goddess to go by the damn textbook in a moment like this. In the two seconds Wolverine had stared at her like she was a ninety-nine cent all you can eat buffet, Psylocke felt she had been measured for her coffin. No one should have that icy a glare yet pull off being uncharacteristically sexy. Ridding herself of those thoughts, Psylocke followed her orders.

Gambit shifted on his feet and began to bounce on his toes. Cold weather was for the birds and he had to keep moving to ensure his muscles would be relaxed and ready. Plus he didn't like the way the feral was looking at his Stormy. Gambit knew better than anybody that Storm could hold her own in a fight, but Wolverine had unparalleled senses, reflexes, and tons of combat training. Rumored to be the deadliest mutant in the world, they stood better chances of taking him down working together instead of trying to take him on one-on-one though Gambit was sure he could give Wolverine a run for his money.

Was it a theory he was interested in trying out today? Not so much. He just got this new leather duster after all.

The tension in the cold Canadian air tripled until it was an entity of its own.

Storm, slowly, and methodically raised her hands in the air, her blue eyes transforming into milky-white orbs. Wolverine paused and sniffed, noting the atmospheric changes, microscopic particles becoming electrically charged. Oh, you're powering up are you, he thought teasingly, and made a show of rolling his beefy shoulder. Puffs of air could be seen coming from his nostrils, the sight reminding Storm of a bull about to charge a matador. She guessed that would be the correct analogy to use in this situation.

"This is your last chance to stand down, Wolverine, or we'll have to use force," Storm warned.

Wolverine wanted to speak and say bring it, but he was supposed to be off his rails and incoherent. Instead, he opted to grin manically and fly after Storm.

He didn't make it very far before he was hit in his oblique with an optic blast. Wolverine was thrown sideways and it was a tree that stopped his momentum. Thoroughly pissed, he quickly righted himself, crouching low, prepared to aim at the Boy Scout with his claws to teach him some manners that when a man was about to ask a lady to dance, you don't cut in.

Just as he took a single step forward, a playing card landed on his foot. Wolverine looked down in confusion and then in the next instant his foot was on fire thanks to the card exploding.

All right, he was officially pissed the hell off and refused to have his ass handed to him by a bunch of pretty boys and their back up dancers. He sheathed his claws, balled his hands into fists, and that was the last thing anyone saw.

Beast couldn't explain what happened next. One minute it appeared they were gaining the advantage on Wolverine by forcing him back, and the next, he was being used like a bowling ball and was tossed into Gambit and Cyclops, knocking them over and pinning his teammates beneath his girth.

Wolverine's speed was nothing less than supernatural. _Oh, my stars and garters_, Beast thought as he carefully climbed off his unfortunate teammates, who, lucky for them could take a licking and keep right on ticking.

In his assault, Wolverine, in one simple move eliminated his three perceived biggest threats. The violet-haired vixen came at him executing different styles of karate which surprised him because he hadn't expected her to nearly match him when it came to hand-to-hand combat. But Wolverine had years—centuries—on this tart, and he applied them. Blocking her blows, diving her hits, bobbing and weaving like a shadow boxer, hoping to tire her out. Yet Psylocke only seemed to increase in strength although her patience might have been waning.

Growling, Psylocke summoned her psi-blades to deal with Wolverine and hopefully cut him where he'd really hurt, but again the man was too spry and agile for her to get close enough to deliver a substantial blow.

The minute she was in reaching distance, Wolverine grabbed Psylocke by the hair, wrapping the long strands around his arm before tossing her somewhere. Hopefully she'd be okay once she landed.

The men came at him. Surrounding him. The one in the leather duster flipped around, and had withdrawn a bo staff at some point and managed to land a couple of body shots to Wolverine's abdomen. He doubled over, and growled because that pimp cane was made out of the same indestructible metal as his entire skeletal frame. Not good.

"_Mon dieu!_" Gambit exclaimed. His bo staff should have knocked Wolverine out but good, but it was like it had no effect on the mutant other than to enrage him more. What in the hell was he made out of?

Wolverine grinned. Looked like they all had secrets. The next time, however, the Cajun leaped in the air, executing a triple axle spin like this was the gotdamn Ice Capades, bringing the bo staff down to clock Wolverine right over the top of his head, the feral mutant grabbed the staff, yanked, and smashed his closed fist into Gambit's nose.

The sound of bone breaking and cartilage snapping was enough to turn anyone's stomach, but it might be the fissure of blood that squirted into the air that would hammer in the last nail to that coffin.

Gambit was down for the count.

Storm could hear her brother whining and complaining now about his handsome face being desecrated.

Beast locked his arms around Wolverine, then his legs, knocking the both of them to the snowy ground. Cyclops approached, hand on the dial to turn up the heat of his visor, but his legs were kicked out from under him and he unintentionally released an optic blast that severed a tree branch that crashed and landed on top of him. Wolverine managed to weasel his way out of Beast's hold, and knocked him out for the hell of it.

It was just he and Storm left. Wolverine proceeded with caution because he knew she wielded lightning and he was made of metal. No stranger to being electrocuted, and not being the sharpest knife in the drawer when it came to science, it didn't take a genius for him to know that if she lit him up with a bolt there would be no getting up from that. At least not for a while.

Feeling cornered was one of the worst feelings in the world. And being cornered by Wolverine usually went hand in hand with death. Cautiously Storm backed away from Wolverine after bearing witness to the attack he led on them which took no time at all. It was against the X-Men creed to hurt their own, but that little pesky thing called self-preservation was wailing that in order to stop this before Wolverine seriously injured and/or killed one or all of her teammates, she needed to take her kiddie gloves off and subdue him in the only way she knew how.

Eyes still white, Storm lifted her hands in the air about to take flight. She might have been five feet off the ground when her ankle was grabbed and she was yanked back down to earth. She crashed into the show, her head hit the ground, but she was fine. Storm knew how to fight, wasn't adverse to using violence but for her it was a last ditch effort.

"I don't know if you can comprehend me, Wolverine, but we're not your enemy," Storm said in a dulcet and disarming tone as she pushed herself to a sitting position and got on her feet. "I don't know anything about you, but I know _you _are still in there somewhere."

"Storm, get out of the way. I have a shot!" Cyclops said despite still being pinned under the tree branch.

Attacking from the back, such a punk ass move, Wolverine thought derisively, and briefly looked at the Boy Scout over his shoulder with nothing less than disdain. He might want to rethink that because it would take Wolverine no time at all to move out of the way and bam One-Eye would have hit his own teammate.

Storm and Cyclops realized the same thing. That's why he hesitated and she didn't move. She could get through to Wolverine. Storm was positive she could. She had a way of talking someone off a ledge so she was going to give this a shot.

Discreetly Storm looked around at her team and the carnage. Gambit and Beast were coming to, and Psylocke was cursing up a storm, no pun intended, in her head as she hobbled her way back to ground zero.

"We can end this now, Wolverine," Storm continued. "Please let us help you."

"_NO," _Wolverine replied, voice guttural and then he slammed Storm against a tree. His body relaxed, of its own volition, into her curves. _Fuck, _she felt amazing even through the Kevlar leather uniform. This storm goddess was one of few women Wolverine could actually look directly in the eye. Her legs went on for days, but it was those eyes of hers that could melt the coldest of hearts. He shook his head to get back on track.

Storm tried not to grimace or make any utterance of complaint at Wolverine's tight hold on her arms. She hated what she was about to do next, but it needed to be done.

"Sorry," she said and then wrenched her knee between them which took some doing considering she could feel _all _of Wolverine. The blushing mutant tried not to think about that. Nudity was no big thing to her. In fact, Storm preferred to be nude as opposed to wearing confining clothes, but that sort of thing wasn't wildly accepted in western culture.

Miraculously, Storm managed to put some breathing room between herself and Wolverine which left him wide open for the lightning bolt she summoned from the clouds. It stunned him, sent him flying thirty feet away, and planted Wolverine on his ass.

Someone forgot to pay the light bill because there was darkness all around. He was out.

Breathing heavily, Storm approached a seemingly unconscious Wolverine. The rest of her team gathered and circled him.

Steam rose from his chest, the scent of his singed hair permeated the air reminding Gambit of barbeque left too long on the grill. They all watched in fascination as Wolverine's severely burned and enflamed skin began to heal instantaneously until it was pink, smooth, and once again unblemished.

"Jesus," Cyclops commented and then remembered they still had a job to do. Restraining and loading their new cargo on the plane. "Beast, go retrieve the gurney and the restraints. We need to make this quick before he regains consciousness."

The team made quick work of restraining Wolverine on the gurney.

"Bloody hell how much does this bloke weigh?"Psylocke complained with reason. Wolverine looked as if he weighed two hundred and thirty pounds at the most, but no he was _much _heavier than that.

Beast couldn't help but confirm Pyslocke's observation while making his own inference, that a man Wolverine's height and unknown weight, which judging from his density he was probably closer to three hundred pounds, could move with such agility. Coupled with his regenerative ability, and those foot long claws of his, his versed fighting styles, Wolverine might be the perfect mutant. Physically speaking that is, the jury was still out on his cognitive capabilities.

It took all of them to carry Wolverine on the plane.

"Get him some pants or a blanket," Cyclops griped and took his seat in the pilot's chair flicking switches and starting the engine.

"I think nudity suits him if you want my honest opinion," Psylocke grinned salaciously, and snapped her harness on.

Storm snorted and shook her head. She paused for a moment, and drew her eyes over Wolverine's form. He looked kind of peaceful aside from the periodic twitching of his nose.

"How is he, Henry?"

"He's perfectly healthy, m'dear. Just a little unconscious," he smiled. The second Wolverine had been secured on the plane Beast began his medical diagnostic by checking his vitals, and looking for injuries which of course there had been none.

Nodding, Storm forced her feet to move to the co-pilot chair. "We're ready," she told Cyclops who launched the plane in the air and hit the thrusters.

In exactly one hour Wolverine's true mission would start.

**Charles Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters/Westchester, NY/7:18 p.m.**

A stirring, then stillness, then a flame of burning pain, back to stillness. What was going on with his body, Logan wondered? He hadn't felt this out of it since, well—never. The sensations were familiar but also different. Localized but then the pain felt like it _should _encompass his entire body. He tried to move, to flex, and extend his arms and legs, fingers and toes, but he felt too heavy and sluggish that eventually he gave up and sighed. He was still alive.

From the pounding of his heart, his growing awareness of his surroundings, it was safe to bet he wasn't in Kansas anymore. Just where the hell was he? The details of what happened were hazy, foggy, almost like a dream and then he remembered. Logan remembered the staged fight with the X-Men that had been real enough. He recalled with startling clarity the second he was struck in the center of his chest with a lightning bolt and tasted his own life.

By right he should demand that woman's head for decommissioning him; however, that had been the point even if he suffered a major blow to his ego. Ole Nicky boy would have gotten a kick out of that. The asshole probably watched via satellite, Wolverine thought bitterly, and came to the conclusion he was in Westchester, in their "lair". He wanted to smile but he was supposed to be playing possum.

Wolverine froze when he heard the noticeable whoosh of hydraulic doors opening and closing. He took a cursory sniff and logged his findings. Wild strawberries, stringent alcohol with a twinge of expensive French perfume all spelled "woman" in his mind.

Peeling one eye open carefully, Wolverine immediately snapped it shut. Blinding white light stung his eyes like a bee sting. He winced and cursed quietly.

He must have cursed loud enough because footsteps were drawing closer to his supine form. He kept his eyes shut just for effect. The woman, whose hands were impeccably soft began to prod his skin.

"That tickles," he said gruffly.

A surprised gasp rang in his ears and Wolverine felt it was time for him to open up his pretty little eyes.

A siren with fierce green eyes and a cloud of red hair hovered over him. A rosy hue tinted her cheeks and her lips were slightly parted as if she were about to speak or scream, Wolverine wasn't sure of which. With her standing so close he not only felt her body heat, but her natural scent overwhelmed him and nearly reduced him to a drooling fool. There came that phantom notion that he knew someone just like this chick, and any time he tried to think of a name to go along with the vague outline of a face, Wolverine drew up empty. It was a frustrating process he still hadn't learned to stop putting himself through. Old habits die hard, and well this lady doctor was a babe.

Slowly Wolverine rose to a sitting position on the padded examination bed. Leeds had been attached to his upper torso, forehead, and arms, and one by one he removed them.

Jean had seemingly forgotten her training. She did take a cautionary step backwards because with Wolverine sitting it brought him much too close to her. His massive and hairy chest had dominated her vision, and made her forget she was a licensed doctor and this wasn't a peepshow. Nevertheless, that didn't make her exempt from taking in the fact that Wolverine was handsome in an untamed way. He had alpha male written all over him from the cut of his pectorals, to the way his abdominals contracted with each and every breath, to his biceps and triceps that flexed and rolled under deeply tanned skin.

Her cheeks heated. "You need to lie back down," Jean ordered and remembered her professionalism.

"I'm fine."

"You took a lightning bolt to the chest. Not many people survive something like that. I need to continue to monitor your heart, pulmonary and respiratory systems."

Exasperated Wolverine rolled his eyes. "Lady, I said I'm fine."

"It's _Doctor _Jean Gray," she replied tartly and tried to push Wolverine back down to the bed and found he wasn't budging. Then she became aware of something. "You're communicating…I mean speaking."

Wolverine pressed her with a 'duh' expression. Seriously? She considered herself a medical doctor? Where did she get her license off the Net?

Wolverine watched her curiously as Jean became as still as a statue, her eyes going opaque and then she blinked after spazzing out on him.

"Professor Charles Xavier is on his way. He wants to talk with you."

"Where am I?"

Jean moved over to a rolling cart laden with medical tools. Wolverine eyed her and the cart wearily.

"Currently you're in our Med-Lab, but locally you're in Westchester, New York. Professor Xavier will explain more. He'll be here shortly. In the mean time I'd like a get a blood and tissue sample."

"No_ fuckin'_ way."

Jean looked up at him sharply after hearing the vehemence borderline hatred in Wolverine's voice. "It's just a standard procedure. Nothing evasive."

"You stick me, I stick you," Wolverine unsheathed his claws that lovely –SKINT-sound cutting off any further argument from the beautiful redhead.

Of course that would be the scene Professor Xavier, Storm, and Gambit would arrive to.

"Wolverine put your claws away. I promise you, you won't need them here," Professor X rolled his chair closer, keeping his eyes on Wolverine who had his gaze locked on Jean.

Storm and Gambit stood poised and ready to intervene should they so need to.

Figuring he scared the kids long enough, Wolverine acquiesced and once again slid his claws back into his skin. Tiny drops of blood landed on the blanket that covered his legs.

"Thank you," the distinguished bald man inclined his head and then motioned for Jean to take several steps back. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions and we'll get to them in a much more conducive setting." He didn't continue until Wolverine pried his eyes off Jean which he did. "My name is Charles Xavier. You're at my school for people like you, like us, mutants. You're already acquainted with Dr. Jean Gray. Standing behind me is Remy LeBeau also called Gambit, and Ororo Munroe otherwise known as Storm. They are just two of our senior members of the X-Men. The team that brought you here."

Wolverine snorted. This he already knew but had to play stupid. "Gambit," he didn't bother to look at the guy. "Storm," he winked at her and wasn't the least bit surprised to get no reaction from her. Shrugging, Wolverine dropped his intimidating stare on the Professor. "What do they call you…Wheels?"

Storm elbowed Gambit to keep him from laughing because he had made a similar joke when he and the Professor were first introduced.

"Wat was dat for, _ma petite_?" Gambit spoke for Storm's ears only. "Ah wasn't gon say any'ting."

Wolverine heard him regardless and watched the pair. They were almost even in height, and could easily pass for models. Something about the way the Cajun was standing several inches too close to Storm aggravated him, but he wasn't going to go Dumpster diving to figure out why.

"He's perfectly fine, Professor. There doesn't seem to be any internal or external injuries. His cognitive skills have surpassed earlier speculation. He doesn't need to stay in the Med-Lab overnight."

Wolverine's attention was drawn back into the conversation Professor Xavier and Jean were having about him.

"Well," the Professor began, "we'll leave you to get dressed and then Jean will escort you to my office where we can talk more privately."

"Wait…why did you bring me here?" Wolverine posed a question. "I'm sure it didn't slip your memory what I did to those people. I don't belong here. Just let me be on my way."

Professor Xavier was the most powerful telepath on the planet. There was little that scared him, but even he could admit that having someone of Wolverine's rumored caliber under his roof unnerved him. He had students to protect and several he had legal guardianship of. If anything were to happen to them because of the sanctuary he was willing to extend to Wolverine it would make him look reckless, irresponsible, and too trusting. Charles knew he had to be smart and tentative about this. But even he wasn't ignorant of what it would mean to have a mutant like Wolverine on his side.

"Like I said, Wolverine, we can talk about that in my office. If you want to leave after hearing what I have to say, then you have my blessing to do as such. However, I think you may want to stick around."

"Oh, yeah, and why's that?" Wolverine tossed the blanket off his legs and stood to his full height. The jogging pants that someone put on him were snug, _too _snug and short. They stopped at his calf muscles. High waters. Perfect. He grimaced at the comical sight he made.

Storm placed her hand over her mouth and coughed in a poor attempt to stifle her laughter. That certainly earned her a glare from Wolverine.

**West End of Charles Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters/11:10 p.m.**

Being an X-Man wasn't a job, it was a lifestyle although it was a lifestyle with very few pleasures to be had. That's why once a mission was complete, and Storm shrugged off her cape, and became Ororo Munroe once again, she took to her solarium and treasured her solitude. Quiet, mundane moments were hard to come by when you lived in a place that housed close to a hundred mutants, eighty-five percent of them being teenagers. Some were permanent residents, while others turned Xavier's into a bed and breakfast only stopping by for a few weeks at a time before hitting the road.

Leaving her attic apartment through the skylight, Ororo flew over the grounds until her solarium, the one place that was truly her own, was in sight. Adjusting her body until she was riding the winds backwards, Ororo raised her hands above her head and then squeezed her svelte form through the open window pane at the top of the glass ceiling and dove into the pool.

Ororo didn't bob to the surface until her lungs screamed for oxygen, and when she did, she pushed her long, cloud-colored hair behind her pierced ears and stared up at the moon.

It didn't take long before her thoughts shifted trajectory and she was thinking of Wolverine and how his meeting with the Professor was going. Usually, she along with Jean and Betsy were appointed to make new recruits and students feel welcome, show them the ropes, and train them, so Ororo honestly had no idea what the Professor was going to do with a man like Wolverine. Ororo amended he was more than a man; he was something else. Something she honestly hadn't seen before.

"Gads, woman snap out of it," she admonished herself.

Unfortunately her mind didn't want to.

So Ororo reminded herself that Wolverine was a killer. She had seen him kill. As much as that thought should terrify her, it didn't. There were far more devious people out there—mutant and human alike. Magento sprang to mind, the number one villain against humanity. He wouldn't think twice of either enslaving or killing an entire city or state of humans just to prove a point. It still blew her mind that Charles and Erik were once friends and allies. There couldn't have been a more prominent fork in the road when it came to ideals when thinking of those two men.

But that damn Wolverine and the way he leered at her in the Med-Lab, and how he handled her in Canada. Ororo shivered. Honestly being trapped with those calculating eyes made her feel…

Made her feel alive!

It was sad that it wasn't until her path crossed his again that Ororo realized she had been sleeping this whole time.

But she shook that thought away, dismissed it. Ororo couldn't forget the way Wolverine had grunted and eyed Jean, either, or Psylocke. So he liked women. Came as no surprise, and he didn't look like the sort of man who spent many nights alone in a cold bed, but that meant nothing, and had no bearing with her because…

Because what?

She didn't know and quite honestly didn't want to find out. Wolverine was only here for a time. In fact tonight might end up being his _only _night at the mansion.

Nevertheless, Ororo knew that peaceful times here at the Institute would cease to exist if he decided to stay. What this meant for everyone, herself included, she honestly didn't know, but even she could admit to feeling a tiny bit of anticipation course through her veins at the prospect of the future.

Peeling out of her bathing suit, since she was here alone, Ororo began to do laps around the pool. The solarium had been built two years ago, and inside were a plethora of flowers and plants, some from her native Africa. The temperature inside was regulated to ensure those rare species of flora survived the cold, harsh winters of New York. Several people complained about the heat when they would join Ororo for a midnight swim, but it didn't bother her. She could adjust her basal body temperature to fit any environment so she never felt hot or cold unless she wanted to.

After doing two hundred laps, the muscles in her arms and legs burning in appreciation, Ororo came to rest at the shallow end of the pool, her eyes once again drawn to the moon.

Suddenly Ororo looked over her shoulder, a divot formed between her arched, white eyebrows. Save for the moonlight the solarium was shrouded in darkness. The plants created shadows along the mosaic floor, but instinctually the white-haired beauty knew she wasn't alone.

Wolverine watched her with narrowed and predatory eyes. He had made not a single sound as he entered the solarium after getting a whiff of her scent. He had been walking along the estate checking out his new digs, familiarizing himself with the terrain when he heard a splash of water. After listening to the Professor drone on and on about the importance of mutant equality, and being friends and protectors of humanity, and giving outcast mutants a chance, Wolverine had signed on the proverbial dotted line to be one of Chuck's toy soldiers.

He needed to find a secluded spot so he could check in with Fury and give him an update of his status, and get his next set of orders. Wolverine knew by now that S.H.I.E.L.D. had dispatched a clean up crew to properly dispose of the cadavers he hacked his way through in Canada. It didn't escape Wolverine that the Professor diplomatically chose not to bring that up. Probably didn't want to rattle his cage, set him off on another homicidal temper tantrum. Smart man.

But it was the smell of sandalwood that distracted him and piqued his curiosity. Wolverine watched through the cover of a large palm branch as Storm swam around—in the nude—to his pleasure. He did nothing to give himself away but she was peering through the darkness trying to find him, and Wolverine could admit to being impressed. Not many people could sense him when he was purposely being stealthy, and the fact she sensed something was off…

Storm spelled trouble and not just for his libido.

He couldn't see very much of her other than her flawless mocha skin, and muscled back. The water teasing lapped around her waist and he could just make out the top of her rounded ass. Even from the back she was a knockout.

Unconsciously he licked his lips and then decided to put her out of her misery though part of him was hoping she'd turn completely around so he could get a look at those plentiful tits of hers, but nothing of the sort happened.

Stepping out of the shadows dressed in a black shirt with an X emblem over his heart, and a decent pair of jeans that actually fit his frame, feet bare, Wolverine sauntered to the edge of the pool.

"Evenin'," if he had his Stetson he'd tip it towards her.

Ororo immediately covered herself with fog. Like she said earlier, she wasn't adverse to nudity, didn't mean she was an exhibitionist and got off on exposing herself to strangers.

Hi," she said.

Wolverine chuckled darkly. "Mind if I join you?"

"Help yourself," Ororo said and kept her azure eyes planted firmly on Wolverine who began to strip.

He crossed his arms over his chest, grabbed the hem of the shirt and wrenched it up. Then his thick fingers flicked the button of his jeans, tugged down the zipper, and then pulled his pants down once again standing before her in his birthday suit.

For a moment he merely stood there. Ororo managed to keep her eyes above his neck, though she could see his entire body through her peripheral vision. Immediately her skin pebbled and she frowned. That had never happened before.

Wolverine grinned as he dove into the pool and when he emerged he was standing right next to Ororo.

"This where you come to be alone?" he asked and wondered why he was trying to make small talk with her. Wolverine didn't make small talk with anyone. Usually he got into arguments, or tuned out the sound of someone's voice, or voiced his displeasure with something.

Ororo nodded her head and then turned her attention back to the moon. "I come here to relax after a particularly taxing mission," her comment meant to be sarcastic.

"Is that right? Your name is Ororo?" it was a bit of a tongue twister for Wolverine.

Ororo laughed a little. It was nothing new, someone butchering her name. "O-R-O-R-O," she enunciated slowly and carefully so he could get the right pronunciation.

Wolverine made another attempt and sounded even more linguistically challenged. Fuck it, he'd just call her Ro.

"And do you just go by Wolverine?"

"Logan," he replied softly, "is my other name."

Ororo smiled and thought it suited him. "Welcome to Xavier's."

Logan grunted. "You teach?"

"Yes. Botany, History, and English. How are you feeling?"

Logan pushed his unruly obsidian hair off his forehead, biceps flexing. "Like I made out with an electrical fence."

Ororo found herself smiling yet again. "If you're looking for an apology, sorry, you didn't leave me much choice."

"No offense taken. I didn't make the best first impression."

And that worried Ororo considerably. There was Wolverine the seemingly heartless assassin, and then there was Logan the man she knew nothing about but appeared amiable. Maybe he was toying with her because it hadn't escaped her attention that her defenses and hackles didn't exactly lower since he infiltrated her space.

"What are you doing here?" Ororo pondered seriously.

"To relax after a particularly taxing mission," he copied her earlier sentiment and added his version of a charismatic smile.

"No," Ro shook her head. "I mean…why are you still here? I thought you wanted to be on your own?"

Wolverine shrugged a brawny shoulder then lowered himself in the water and began to float, which took some skill because typically he just sank to the bottom of any body of water.

"I'm curious about this place."

"People who are curious about what goes on here only have an agenda in mind. You're yourself again after the scene my team and I encountered in Canada. What was that?"

A warning growl emitted from Wolverine's mouth. "A misunderstanding," he answered gutturally.

"How many people had to die for this misunderstanding?"

"Are you always this damn nosy, lady? I wasn't myself. It happens from time to time. And those people were far from innocent. They were bigots. Belonged to an underground gang that had it out for mutants."

That was unacceptable to Storm. Ororo had to go back in the closet for this particular conversation.

"And that makes murder justifiable? I don't know what the professor sees in you, and typically I go along with Charles because he knows what he's doing, but you are a liability, Wolverine, so let's get something straight. There are young people here who have gone through a tremendous amount of pain for being so young. If you do anything to hurt them-,"

Wolverine stood to his full height, playful mood gone and replaced with anger.

Storm swam closer to him and ignored the droplets of water that rolled down his chest. "If you do anything to hurt them I will put you down."

He couldn't help it, he laughed, and boisterously at that. But then he made the mistake of looking directly in those blue eyes and saw specks of turquoise around the irises and flecks of gold. Anatomically speaking, Ro had a perfectly symmetrical face; eyes spaced evenly apart surrounded by thick dark lashes, long, sharp nose with wide nostrils, and those lips—like two pillows ready to be ravished. The rest of her was conveniently hidden by the fog she conjured, but Logan knew she was nothing less than _scultura. _

His head dipped of its own accord, his lips hovering just above the bridge of her nose. Ororo gasped softly and took a step back.

Wolverine cleared his throat to get things back on track. "I'd like to see you try."

Ororo shrugged a careless shoulder and swam her way to the edge of the pool where she lifted her body out of the water, still covered in fog.

"Maybe you forgot what I did to you in Canada. A repeat performance can always be arranged. Enjoy the water," she faced him again, "and once more welcome to Xavier's."

Logan trailed her retreating form with menacing hazel eyes and the second he heard the door open and close, he released the breath he had been holding, and then smirked.

He was going to like it here after all.

Chapter end.

**A/N: Now that Wolverine is in, just how much will he follow or deviate from what he's there to do? Stay tuned. Reviews makes me happy and lets me know you guys want more, so please make it rain. Thank you so much for reading. Until next time, love you guys.**


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